The Street of the Three Beds Read Online Free PDF Page B

Grandpa craned his neck to see if he could find out the reason for the delay. “Usually they’re on time.”
    Rumors rippled through the crowd. As minutes ticked on, the public—a gigantic octopus spreading its tentacles—grew impatient and shouted, “Come on! Hang ‘im once for all! Hang ‘im! Hang ‘im!”
    Maurici turned his eyes to the gallows and, for the first time, had an inkling of the purpose of the rope.
    His grandfather joined a group engaged in a heated debate. As he approached them, Maurici heard:
    â€œThe robe! They can’t find the robe!”
    â€œWhat’s the robe?” he asked.
    They kept talking fast and gesturing frantically without paying attention to him, so, raising his voice, he insisted, “What’s the robe?”
    A man in denims and canvas shoes answered, “It’s like a cloak convicts wear.”
    A chubby old woman with a scarf on her head said, “What’s the proper color today?”
    â€œYellow. It’s got to be yellow,” explained a well-dressed man with white hair, a grey beard, and a cigar between his lips. “The color for parricides.”
    Now, that word he’d definitely never heard. “What’s parr . . . ?”
    â€œBe quiet, boy, don’t ask so many questions,” his grandfather commanded.
    â€œExcuse me. One should always give an answer to a child,” the man with the cigar cut in. And, turning to Maurici, he added, “They’re people who kill their parents or their children, son.”
    â€œPeople don’t kill their parents or their children,” whispered Maurici, trying to imagine an absurd scene in which he and his father were about to kill each other.
    The man smiled cryptically behind a cloud of smoke. “When you grow up you’ll see: in this world it takes all kinds, all kinds.”
    â€œBut somebody just said he already had the robe on,” said a young woman in plain clothes who held a bag of peanuts in her hand.
    â€œYes, but it was black, the color for ordinary murderers,” the execution expert pontificated.
    On her part, the fat woman ventured, “Oh, I don’t know. On these occasions black seems more fitting than yellow, don’t you think?”
    â€œIf it must be yellow, they should find a yellow robe and get it over with.” Grandpa was running out of patience.
    The man in denims made his contribution: “They can’t find a yellow robe in the prison.”
    â€œHow d’you know?” asked the chubby woman with the scarf on her head, becoming more and more curious.
    â€œI know the executioner. They let me in and they told me themselves.”
    â€œNow what!” Roderic Aldabò shouted. “You mean they don’t have a yellow robe ready? There’s time enough to prepare for an execution, for goodness sake . . . why are they caught with their pants down?”
    Maurici giggled at the bit about the pants.
    The girl with the peanuts came up to the fat woman, whispering with an air of secrecy, “They say he killed his wife and his two kids.”
    â€œGoodness gracious! The man’s a monster!”
    â€œWhat d’you call the ones who kill their wives?” jumped in Maurici, intent on expanding his vocabulary.
    â€œThey don’t have a name,” his grandfather answered and quickly added, “they got no right to keep us waiting!”
    â€œListen,” the fat woman addressed the worker in denims, “since they let you in, why don’t you go? You can be back in a jiffy and give us the scoop on what’s going on in there.”
    â€œThat’s right!” rejoined the peanut eater, beaming with excitement.
    Given their insistence, the man meekly obliged. Meanwhile, others had approached and the group kept getting bigger. Maurici complained about being hungry until his grandfather promised to take him to breakfast after the execution. Clinging to that hope,